A tale of Rebirth
A HOES tale 03-12
Word Count: 1080 (titles not included)
The youth was different, his parents knew that, his scholars knew that and the Priest knew that. Outwardly he was hard a worker as he was a scholar and his thirst for knowledge out weighed any of his class mates. Despite his ethics and his knowledge he was indeed a likeable young man, if not intimidating because of his sheer size. He had grown in what the doctors could only call major growth spurts. When asked if he knew why this happened to him, the boy would merely shrug and say perhaps it was something in his family line that had caught up with him. No one could argue with that logic.
He had a charisma that ensured he was the most popular youth at school, he was never without a girl on his arm and he was never without a place in the sports teams. Occasionally his sleep was fractured with dreams of armoured warriors, tens of thousands of men across numerous battlefields chanting a name in glory. Other times the dreams would turn into horrific nightmares, warriors against warriors, a galaxy in flames and a final battle between father and son.
He would wake without a sound and would tell no one of his dreams. His world was superstitious enough and the last thing he wanted was to be tagged as a demon. He would continue his day as he always had, the people of his mining town would remark how he could clear several layers of the mine by himself. When a mining accident trapped several of his friends he took command of the rescue operation and directed men and women to points that he knew would be beneficial to the search.
He would not rest until such work was completed and when it was successful he would celebrate, if it was not he would blame himself for not being quick enough. Despite his now elderly parents words of comfort to placate him it seemed that he was unable to forget the loss almost as if it were a part of him that had been killed in the mine.
The dreams at night became more and more realistic. Not only did he dream about the dead miners but dead warriors’. Some holding the hand of their mighty Commander as they passed into the halls of warriors past, others staring into blackness, the image of their last moments forever imprinted on their eyes and behind them eyes were accusations’ wordless destruction that pointed the finger of blame at their Commander.
He would get up and pace the floor of his home, ducking under door frames to pass from room to room, attempting to make sense of this jumbled jigsaw of pictures that played in his mind and controlled his dreams at night but , try as hard as he might he could not. It was as if his mind was deliberately blocking anything that would help him make sense of such a mosaic of images.
When the Orks came to his world he joined the army without hesitation and under his guidance they managed to beat the Greenskins back despite the losses felt the world over. The people of his world began to see him as a god of war, never giving up and never giving in, there were those who began to whisper that he was more then human, he was bigger then they were, he was able to talk to anyone and they would listen enraptured with his words.
When he had killed the Ork Commander he had done so with his bare hands, roaring to the heavens as the Greenskins very life blood covered his face and in the moonlight it had illuminated his face with an eerie red light. He was now the saviour of this world and there was no one who did not love this mighty war god.
The vessel approached the planet slowley and cautiously like a Lion hunting its prey. On its ancient and mighty bridge a giant stood with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. His massive armour the first thing that enemies saw and the last thing they would see. His sorcerers’ and Psykers had told him this was the real deal. He was unsure if it was or if it was yet another hoax, or a trick perpetrated by other Legions’, if it was then he would kill this being himself then go after those who dared try this.
The world below him was both familiar to him and unknown she looked like his old home world but before her destruction and long before her rape of minerals. He had recalled the old tales of how she looked before humans had settled in abundance. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds beyond sounds that only he could hear. The fear in the hearts of those that worked within this ancient and hallowed vessel was like a drug to him, he did not care if they cursed his name, as long as they obeyed him through duty or fear it mattered not.
When the vessel had achieved orbit he took a small retinue in an ancient Stormbird and told the merged pilot to head for the largest township. The pilot had been human once but was now one with the demon spirit within the ancient Stormbird; he patted the pilots shoulder and relayed his orders to his bridge. If this was a wasted journey then this world would burn.
The war god came out as the ancient vessel came into land, his eyes fixed on the craft trajectory and when it had landed a sense of familiarity washed over him. He pushed his long dark hair back and up into a topknot, his muscles’ rippled as his tension built, a wash of adrenalin fuelled through him, only felt when he had killed the Orks and their Commander.
He folded his tree trunk arms across his chest as the ramp lowered and monsters dressed in black and gold armour marched down, causing the townsfolk to step back in fear, their fear reached the war gods incredible sense of smell and he smiled slightly. As he laid eyes on the warriors who stood across from him his mind everything clicked into place, what the pictures meant an who he really was.
Abaddon stared at the man before him “Your name” He demanded.
The silence was deafening and only one word was spoken “Horus”